


Next Time

by Houjuu



Series: Stohn Oneshots [8]
Category: The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, everyone is alive AU, including cepans, prompt, two miserable people meet at a wedding au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 06:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9871025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houjuu/pseuds/Houjuu
Summary: The war may be over but the end doesn't necessarily mean the end for emotional scars. Everyone Is Alive AU. Stohn. Mentioned Devedor and Navrina. One Shot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, as you can tell from the summary and tags that this is an AU fic that takes place almost in a UAO timeline space in the story but where everyone, including the Cepans and novella side characters like Devektra, survived the war and are trying to rebuild their society. This is based off of the Tumblr ask prompt "two miserable people meet at a wedding" and I wanted to write a pinch of Devedor.

In the warm lights stood the couple of honor. It was Lorien’s first wedding since the invasion, since the massacre.

Since the Garde children finally came home.

The surprising amount of Loric that survived hid out on the ruins of an abandoned planet, completely forgotten for the lone ship carrying Lorien’s future. 

Devektra had fought and she had survived. Now, after so many years, she could complete her union to the man that reignited the hope for her people in her.

She was beautiful in her white folds of a dress, with her platinum hair halfway pinned in a delicate bun on the back of her head. She sway, leaning her head on the shoulder of her newly named husband as they danced to their slow song. It wasn't one of her own songs, that had surprised everyone in attendance. No, the team chose a song from an old artist from two hundred years prior, before lights and technicians shaped the way the people of Lorien listened to music.

The wedding itself was human inspired, from the tuxedos and wedding gowns to the way the banquet and celebratory dance was held. She liked it that way; he wanted it that way. He had relished in the lifestyle of the rich human people; he spoke of his tower suite, his collection of clothing.

He had told her the truth, of how he tried to forget her. How he imagined her body in the rubble of their prized cities, how there was no chance he would survive his fight on Earth. His alcohol abuse. 

She forgave him. She was, after all, a star herself.

They were finally reunited after the war, after the children had revived the planet with the slaying of Setrakus Ra. The cities were still in construction and the leadership was still in ruins. But even in the smolder of a once great civilization, there had to be some spark of joy.

They were happy. Smitten. Together.

It was Devektra and Sandor. In union at last. 

Stanley wanted to vomit. He wasn't one for sappy, he wasn't one for anything remotely romantic or sugar coated. His life had been brittle, proven by the endless scars across his skin. He'd fought wars from a young age, cracked every pore on his skin, and came out victorious every time. 

He lost his innocence at a young age when he watched Sandor, the man of honor, be tortured for any scrap of information he had left.

He wasn't in the mindset for a wedding. He wasn't in the mood for something so cliche and sweet when their world had to soon be rebuilt.

There was so much work to be done. 

“Is this seat taken,” a bored voice asked him as the rest of the bridal party made its way to the dance floor. Stanley turned his gaze from his self pitying stare to meet blue eyes and blonde hair.

Number Four. Or, as he preferred recently, John Smith.

Stanley almost mistook him for his grandfather, the elder who sacrificed his life to defeat Setrakus Ra and prevent the human world's ultimate demise. To save the new world elders from certain death.

John looked as done and dreary as Stanley felt. He ached at the little wonder of why. Heroism was in his blood, fame was in his features. He was tall and handsome, with the way his blonde hair curled with sweat around his forehead and how his blue eyes lit and flashed with every little feeling his mustered. He had the charm and look that brought in human girls for miles; he clearly never noticed the few boys that were also lost.

Stanley was one of those. He found John Smith incredibly handsome. 

Stanley found him so much more than something to lose your eyes in. After Maddy, it was hard. 

After someone fell for John, he wasn't so sure they could recover. He hasn't reached that plateau yet. Right now, he was the quiet admirer. He liked his features, he liked the way John had taken the war by force. How he wasn't scared to feel. He liked what he knew about John Smith, the calm and ambitious Garde with legacies that harnessed the power of fire. 

But all he knew was myths. The Cepan never let the other Garde get too close to the others, the children found ways around the Cepan rules. 

Stanley never let himself meet John Smith completely. They knew each other's numbers. They knew of the other’s skill, fought alongside each other. Stanley kept his numerical bonds with Naveen, then Eight and Ella, once Ten, the limits of his friendships; John had done with same with Cody, Number Five, while keeping his family's friendship with Maren, Number Six alive. Stanley wondered if John thought the same as him, that he didn't dare risk having anymore friends. Friends could die. 

Lovers could die.

“I don't care, take it.”

“It's just nice to see someone else hate happiness too,” Four remarked as he took the seat. 

“I don't hate happiness ,” Stanley hissed quietly. John chuckled, keeping his tired eyes on the dancers. “I just hate weddings. And love. And romance.”

“Because you can't get any?”

Stanley glared at John. He was lippy. This was a first. Not a lot of people talked back to him.

“Because that's my Cepan out there. I’m only here because it’s for him. I also just… hate flowers.” Anything to end this conversation.

“Wow. Flowers are Number Nine’s only weakness. Explains a lot,” John commented, finally turning his attention on Stanley. His eyes were laughing. So much for quiet.

“Fuck you, Four,” he growled to himself, looking back to Sandor. His Cepan was twirling like nothing else mattered, Devektra laughing along with his stunt. Sandor was the shy nerd back in Lorien’s golden days, now here he was showing off his stunts for the remainder of their people. 

“Some people want to,” he replied, almost like he practiced the response.

“Then go find someone who would.”

Beat.

“It’s not the same,” John shrugged. Stanley stole a glance at him. His face once again bared a tired feeling. Maybe even a little defeated. He looked older than he was, seventeen years and counting. He risked edging a thousand with his ripe heritage but even now, he looked dated. 

“Because they’re not human?” He knew the risk of asking that but he still persisted. He didn’t know John and John didn’t know him. They knew of each other. Asking the pointed questions he’d only heard whispers of from the others was the only way he could get to know him. 

“You’re one to talk,” John countered, meeting his eye with a narrowed expression. He was guarded now. He also proved that he knew more than he let on too. “I mean, it’s not the same to be around someone who doesn’t feel the same.” 

“We’ll all a little battered, so what,” Stanley remarked. 

John let out a soft sigh.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to like you,” John murmured and turned his eyes off of Stanley back onto the floor. Many of the other wedding goers had run out into the music, pulling their friends or partners in tow. 

His quiet answer took Stanley back. The older boy took a breath.

“What does that mean?”

“You know,” John mumbled again. “I’ve heard of you. I’ve seen you and what our fight for life did to you… as it had to me. You get it so I came over to talk to you because if anyone understood what it feels like, you would, Stanley. I wasn’t sure you’d actually be… worth talking to. We’re both guarded, protective of ourselves. ”

The last word would have stung if Stanley did not, in fact, understand the horrors. Even if it wasn’t the same, where John was forced to leave behind many people he cared for while Stanley watched the girl he cared for give her life for him, it was a pain no little ten seconds of someone else’s glorified happiness could try to fix. 

“How did it feel,” John asked suddenly.

“To what?”

“To have someone to love you back.”

Oh.

“Well…” he started slowly. After months of her death, months of fighting, of blood, he felt the words easily fall from his mouth. John would understand, he was certain. “When it happens… it's the best feeling in the world,” Stanley would have never let the soft smile cross his face if he hadn't let himself heal that little bit. The smile lasts a mere second as soon as he remembers. He remembers holding her body, being told to flee. The smoke had gagged him, the explosions threatened to deafen him. He remembers the week of nightmares that followed; he remembers ripping the head off of the next Mog to cross his path without remorse.

Sandor had been his grief counselor for the next two years they had waited to reunite with the Garde and their Cepans. Naveen became his closest friend shortly after that but his intimate relationship with Marina, Number Seven, made it hard to rely on him. He slowly realized he couldn't try and rely on anyone else; Sandor had been seriously injured while Nav still bears the scars of the knife that almost carved his heart out.

Stanley’s own scar had been emotional. 

“A lot of Loric thought I was going to bring Sarah with me,” John grinned to himself. “What’s so wrong with a boy and a girl being friends? I liked her once but… she didn’t like me that way. We respected each other, cared for each other. I can’t fault her for that and I can’t fault myself for being disappointed by that either.” 

Rumors. The human relationships, the human distractions, all rumors made by the other Garde or loric. John Smith hadn’t experienced mutual love. 

“People died for us, Nine,” John murmured, closing his eyes. He called him Nine, just Nine. No one did anymore. He preferred it but in respect for the humans, the other Garde voted against him to keep their human names. “I’m not more ready than you are.”

“I’m not asking for someone-”

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just telling you that you’re not alone.”

Stanley looked down at his hands.

“Our scars are similar, but they aren’t the same. You can’t compare your crush-”

“Compare? You’re so stupid,” John cut him off. “Want to see my scars? They’re pretty ugly. Or hear the names of everyone I left behind? We can compare if you want, it won’t change that we both bare them.” 

Stanley turned back to John as the blonde raised a hand to his throat, running his fingertips along the hollow of his neck. He caught sight of the thin purple line that ran across it and felt his stomach clench. His blue eyes fogged slightly and his lips are pursed together in a deep frown. 

He didn’t like the look on his friend. His new friend. Because someone found him and sat with him but didn’t want to lecture him about what he should do next. Someone who saw his scars and just wanted to remind him that there are other people who are broken that could use his experience. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s brought us here.”

Stanley blinked and felt the smile ghost his lips. 

He thinks, sitting next to the open and similarly scarred by their past, that he could be ready to move on soon. He liked John enough to start something small. Friendship, someone besides Eight to unload all of his angst onto. Someone who opened up to him first. 

Stanley was ready to take a risk.

“Actually… do you want to get out of here for a while? I think we could use some air.”

John smiled softly. 

“Actually, I’d love that.”

Beat. It was the bouquet toss; several female members of the bridal party and wedding goers stormed the dance floor as Devektra took the stage and used her legacies to add sparkle and light to the flashing. She turned her back, flourishing the folds of her dress in a circle around her as she spun and posed with the flowers. 

“Now’s a good time to flee,” Stanley said, standing up and offering his hand to John. John raised a curious brow before smiling and taking it. His skin was warm and far softer than he thought. He expected calluses and ruin permanently cracked into his palms but they were kind. He kept the hold on his hand as they walked towards the exit, pulling John along as the crowd’s energy grew incohesive.

John chuckled to himself. 

“I thought about catching the bouquet to scare you.”

Stanley rolled his eyes but he kept his grin.

“Thanks for thinking about me, dick.”


End file.
